


Blood of an Eagle

by Blacklyra



Category: Assassin's Creed, Prototype (Video Game)
Genre: Alex isn't putting up with his shit, Alternate Universe, Apple of Eden, Applied Phlebotinum, Assassins, Bargaining, Crossover, Experimental Style, Frenemies, Gratuitous Violence, Immunity, MacGuffins, Manipulation, Moral Ambiguity, No planned pairings, Paralysis, Uneasy Allies, but remains deadly, can't lie about that, expensive prisons, in Manhattan, in which Desmond only has one usable arm, one OC that I'm proud of, scientists - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacklyra/pseuds/Blacklyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the coming of the new year, the Assassins attempt to consolidate their power in a paranoid Manhattan while Templars recover what they've left behind. At the same time, the Apple falls into the hands of a rogue scientist whose creations may turn the tide in either party's favor.</p>
<p>--"Surely it was that golden ichor flowed through his veins, because death feared him and disease could never touch him."--</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All That Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have this random plot idea I spawned while I work feverishly on Descendant. These two fandoms are crossed a lot, and I found a new reason why.

**December 23rd, 2012**

\--They descended into the dark, flashlight beams playing across the dark underground as the troop pushed onwards, relying on their small illumination to prevent them from tumbling down a shadowed crevice. Once the area opened up into a larger space, complete with blue-tinged structures that aided in seeing where one was going, the leader ordered a thorough search as the search lights were set up. "We have little enough time to waste before those rebels return. Salvage everything that can be saved so that we can get this mission over with," His voice was at once commanding and yet oddly bored, yet still managed to ring out through the expansive silence that pervaded the cavern. He frowned in distaste at the sight of the devices scattered throughout, wrinkled gray coat flapping as he watched his subordinates get to work at their own pace, uncaring of how his light clothes struck a stark contrast to the sleek, blue-black crystal that composed most of the precursor temple. On the other hand, his accomplices-dressed in black kevlar, armed with stun guns and assault rifles-fit in perfectly well.

After their few minutes of investigation revealed that the Assassins had left in too much of a hurry to retrieve their equipment, attempts were made to open up the hard drives for any useful information. However, in some unfortunate bad luck, it turned out that the computer systems and portable Animus used by the rebels was rendered useless already, knocked out by the global field they had somehow triggered. The man in the gray coat growled quietly, frustrated that his superiors continued to be stingy with the details of that event; trust Abstergo to expect so much and end up making his job even tougher than it had to be.

So far the most he'd figured out about the field personally was that it unleashed a simultaneous EMP wave that destroyed any electromagnetic equipment located within twenty miles of the origin location, as the rebels' technology could clearly attest to. The confusion following the event-now referred to as an Act of God by much of the populace, at least within the states-were a hectic affair, resulting in his division being called in to cordon off the area and detain whoever was responsible. It was all a very hush-hush affair in the sense that Abstergo felt the need to make unspoken threats about revealing this information to anyone, not that the man would, he needed this job after all. But he did wonder if anyone at the origin site would even have survived it and the upper echelon insisted it didn't matter. That was an annoying answer; since when could you interrogate a corpse?

Regardless, it was just a damn job and he did his best not to stick his nose where it didn't belong when the paychecks were steady, even if it was a giant pain. "Doctor Reis, there's something that you need to see," The man adjusted his coat irritably as one of his soldiers rushed over and interrupted his thoughts, following the disturbed subordinate over the long bridge extending into the cavern's depths. In truth he wasn't expecting to find anything extraordinary to somehow explain this madness and just an inkling of sense. Maybe the jumpiness of his soldiers ("brave, loyal and committed like a drunken bum," he snorted), gave them another shadow to bother him about. They were almost useless in the aftermath of the flare and that freakish EMP, so Doctor Reis was doubly surprised to see that glowing orb and a mass of white drawing startling contrast in the near darkness.

Drawing his coat tighter once again-the damn thing was torn, old and needed replacing-the man winced at the aching of his joints as he knelt down next to the prone body, recognizing him immediately. It would have been hard not to; Abstergo undoubtedly pulled a great deal of strings to get his face on wanted posters and search warrants for countries around the globe. The United States, Brazil, Italy, and Egypt were just a few examples, Doctor Reis didn't have a high enough clearance to know the details of why besides his apparent status as an Assassin and Animus subject. All he knew about that machine was that it was intended to allow viewing of past events somehow, frustrating in it's secrecy.

This mission promised to change that limited clearance and he was all too eager to upgrade from the dolts he'd been assigned to-all the right guns for the military, yet none of the delicacy and know how required for matters like these-and move up, tempted by the mere thought of 'knowledge,' rather than authority and a hefty pay raise. Though with all the unreasonable demands lately, the doctor did believe that he surely deserved a raise; not all alleged Templars sat in the lap of luxury after all. Goodness, being a Templar could be a rather thankless job, and Assassins worked for free.

The world was fucked up.

"Miles, huh..." Doctor Reis sighed quietly, having honestly not wished to become so deeply involved in a mission that involved this subject in particular. People who pissed off blood-born Assassin-Purebloods, he dubbed them-tended to end up with a blade to the kidneys. Or, in Doctor Vidic's case, a bullet in the brain. The old man did manage to tread on a lot of toes ("Ah, Warren, how I miss your emails that look like they've been written by an illiterate fifteen year old"), not the least of which being Miles himself, both of them in fact.

Reis shook his head to clear it of those unnecessary thoughts and looked over the body, not able to find any sign of injury other than a thoroughly blackened right arm that looked like it had been in some kind of flash fire. The only object that he could see that might have caused such damage was the pulsating sphere across from him, and the splayed position as though Miles had been thrown violently away from it. He leveled a glare on the increasingly uncomfortable soldier who'd led him to this strange find, "I hope you weren't stupid enough to touch that."

"A small shock sir, nothing more," The younger man admitted in embarrassment, rubbing at his presumably stinging fingers and confusing the doctor even more. Either what had happened to Miles was a one time only occurrence or something else was responsible for it.

"Never mind then, I'll figure it out later. Have the rest of those sluggards finish up their tasks. We'll complete the lock down and I'll finish my report for the directors," As soon as the soldier hurried off, Doctor Reis paused curiously as he tried to piece together the convoluted puzzle that had been presented to him. The precursor site, the Assassin cell that was operating here, the EMP wave and Desmond Miles... Experimentally, the doctor extended two fingers and felt for a pulse...and immediately jerked his hand backwards as though he had been burned as well. No pulse but...he was still _warm_. That simply shouldn't be possible.

'How in the hell? It's been two days and still... Did this place preserve him somehow?'

There was a rumble of footsteps signalling the arrival of his soldiers and Doctor Reis straightened up quickly so that his subordinates wouldn't get the chance to see how shaken he was by the unexpected find. "Good, you're all here. It's time to head out. Load up everything of value, including this one, we'll be taking him with us as well. And take their Animus core as well; it's likely fried to trash, but the director might still be able to use it for something."

Soon after he gave the order, everyone went directly to work, moving with a decent speed that Reis normally wouldn't expect from them except on good days. With their transport loaded and ready to leave, only waiting for the outside agent to finish locking down the sector in case any Assassins tried to return to their former base, the doctor sat alone in the black vehicle with their precious cargo and Mile's black bag in his hands. Reis had immediately started rifling through it once he'd been left by himself, setting aside potentially valuable articles and hoping for another clue to his personal mystery.

Suddenly, he became very still, face creasing in fascination as the man lifted something from the bag he was not expecting to find. It was a metallic sphere made of some kind of silvery substance, pulsing with a golden-yellow light and familiar symbols. Entranced, Doctor Reis simply held it for a few moments in complete silence, until an unexpected knock caused him to hurriedly stuff the strange artifact into the folds of his coat. "Doctor Reis, everything is ready to go when you give the word."

It took him a moment or two to answer this time, his voice slightly stressed and still fixated on the object he'd hidden away. "Good to know... Take us straight to the Manhattan sector, I need to talk to the nearest project lead," Reis spared a quick glance towards the sealed tank where Abstergo's precious escaped test subject was held, somehow excluded from the typical effects of degradation. His voice lowered to a near whisper as the transport's engine rumbled into wakefulness, leaving the old precursor temple behind them with every passing moment, "Any idea what this little toy is, Desmond?"

Naturally there wasn't an answer, but Reis pulled the sphere out from his pocket to stare at it again, turning the artifact over and over in his hands as it began to emit a pale glow. That was the moment that he decided that it wasn't strictly necessary for his superiors to know about this unusual curiosity. _'It's just an early pay raise, that's all. The director can keep Miles if he really wants to, but this find is mine.'_ Then a smug smirk split the normally impassive face of Doctor Jeremiah Reis, bathed in the golden light of the stolen treasure.

　

* * *

 

\--A van drove silently to the north, disappearing into the tall spires of the city to nurse their wounds, waiting for the next opportunity. But their presence did not go completely unnoticed as a series of unexplained yet strangely elegant murders where carried out in the depths of Manhattan, targeting not ordinary people or street thugs, but a selected assortment of businessmen and politicians. No one knew who was responsible for the killings, but questions were being asked and it wouldn't long before the investigations became more desparate.

In particular, the man in the black jacket found his curiosity peaking. For once, something other than his actions had found its way into peoples' fearful speech, and that was something to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to the Apple in canon anyway?  
> Unnamed background character must have stolen it.


	2. Ichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present the Quickening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no excuse for how slow I'm writing these stories when I should have finished more chapters by now. I'll have another for Descendant tomorrow or late tonight. Hopefully, this will help.

Most people would have found that long ride to the big city to be incredibly uncomfortable, trapped in the presence of death and baring with it for some time, even as the traffic worsened and slowed their progress. Dr. Reis on the other hand, was far from squeamish, and he had the luck of obtaining something with which to distract him from the monotony of it all. He had his sights set on the glowing sphere, but was completely at a loss as to what it was exactly. Desmond Miles would know the answers to his questions. Too bad the man couldn't talk to him.

His employers would likely know about it as well, but Reis was certain that they would take the artifact from him if he were to reveal it, and give him no information in exchange. The doctor may not have had enough clearance to really understand what machinations were going on in Abstergo, but he did have a good idea of how the executives liked to operate.

'Need to know basis' only. Typical.

And nothing pissed him off more than exclusions; he'd dealt with that enough at his old job. However, he did send a series of messages to his immediate contact on his findings at the Grand Temple. In layman's terms of course and as simplistic as possible. It was best that as few details were shared until the meeting in person; you never knew who could be listening.

Dr. Reis glanced down at the cellular phone in his hand as another buzz heralded the arrival of another set of texts from the man who would be meeting him at the facility.

 _'What have you recovered apart from 17?'_ Very concise; Reis could appreciate that at the very least.

 _'A few laptops, some scrap, and the Animus. Most if not all of the circuits have been burned out. EMP?'_ The doctor prodded just a little, hoping without really believing that his superior would share some information over the phone. In truth, though the tech was probably completely totaled, he couldn't say for sure. Reis, after all, was more of a chemist than a technician. That was out of his field.

 _'Perhaps. We will discuss further in person. Ms. England may intercede.'_ Reis frowned at his phone in distaste and put it away, not looking forward to the prospect of dealing with that woman of all things. He'd never met her in person, but the doctor knew her to hold substantial power among those of the Templar order, perhaps close to the elusive Grandmaster. Though while she was undoubtedly feared, obeyed and respected, she was known to treat anyone but her peers with utter contempt. Dr. Reis and many others knew her primarily by her last name or her nickname: Ms. England or the Queen.

Suddenly the doctor became aware that the vehicle was steadily slowing down and he realized that they may have already arrived at their destination, and he was proven right a moment later as a shout cut through the air. "Doctor Reis, open up the door!" The call from the exterior brought the doctor to his feet, crossing to the rear side of the van and threw open the double doors with a swing of his arms. As the gap between them appeared and widened, a group of navy-clad guards surged through the narrow space to pull out the salvage he'd recovered for them. They hesitated at the oval tank in the back, glancing at Reis uncertainly until he nodded in confirmation for them to take it away.

"Be careful with him, now! Wouldn't want to ruin his good condition, do we?" A new voice made a few of the guards who weren't hefting the tank turn around and lower their heads respectfully. Unlike doctor Reis, the new arrival was about ten or so years younger with deeply tanned skin and short black hair that was only lightly streaked with gray. His pinstriped black suit was adorned with a small red and white pin shaped like a cross; it contrasted harshly with Reis and his worn, dirty lab coat. This man had a cold face that always seemed to smile, but only in a shallow, insincere way that never quite managed to reach his eyes. "I received your basic report over the phone about what you've found, though you will forgive me if I doubt your claims..." The suited man cast a sidelong look at the tank with an intense expression that Reis recognized as one of insatiable curiosity.

"You are free to open it up and take a look if you wish, The doctor swept his hand towards the object of his companion's fierce interest, only to have him shake his head distractedly in response.

"No, not here, too many eyes..." Suddenly, the Templar in black targeted the swarming guards in a commanding voice, I want that salvage taken to the Forensics department on the double! And take that case to the Research and Containment, section A-4, carefully. It is needed for my project immediately. Damage that package and I'll leave all of you demoted and assigned to cleaning duties!" The navy-clad guards dispersed quickly, not overly eager to incite the wrath of their superior, and Reis observed some appreciation of the men's efficiency. He turned back to the newcomer and grasped the palm that was offered to him in a firm handshake, "Ah, I nearly forgot to introduce myself. Frederik Wilkenson, supervisor of the Manhattan sector. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Somehow the doctor managed to stop his lip from curling in distaste at the other's perpetually mocking tone and shook back. "Doctor Jeremiah Reis. Likewise," They separated and Frederick reacquired his false smile with full gusto, leading the man out of the loading garage and into the building proper.

"I look forward to hearing what you've discovered in person, doctor. And I am not the only one to be eager, either, though you'll have to wait longer for a meeting in person with one of the others. Your previous experience in gene therapy and bio-engineering make you a highly recommended asset to our cause. Please, walk with me," Unwillingly, Reis followed his less than pleasant associate as they distanced themselves from the loading dock and the hallways shifted from dull gray to stark white like a typical hospital. All the while he moved through the corridors of Abstergo's Manhattan center, he found himself wondering why, if he was such a great asset, the inner circle hadn't bothered to give him a desk job where he belonged. The sound of shoes on polished floors filled the otherwise silent air and Reis was all too aware of the strange metal sphere hidden in the folds of his clothes, weighing them down heavily as though it were suddenly made of nothing but solid lead.

Blessedly unaware of his companion's concerns, Frederik continued to speak, "We've had the absolute worst luck dealing with our enemies lately, not to mention that nasty business in Italy. Oh goodness, so much time and effort invested in that sector, only to end up with a dead doctor–from our inner circle of all things–and hundreds of emotionally traumatized staff screaming about 'the Chosen One' and 'the end of days.' What a mess! So much time to fix that sector and it's still not completely ready to resume operations..." The man shook his head, and Reis was certain that his associate though that he would have done much better in such a situation. Regardless, Frederik was ranting at him as though he normally had clearance to that information, and the doctor was content to wring as much knowledge out of the younger man as he possibly could.

"So what would you have done in Dr. Vidic's place then, sir? If you don't mind me asking..." It was a pain to lower his head humbly to this mocking creature, but Reis managed it, concealing his frustration behind a smile just as fake as Wilkenson's. A moment of silence passed and he wondered if his gamble had paid off or not until the other suddenly spoke up in a rush.

"Oh, let's see then, shall we? For starters, I'd have to say that letting Seventeen traipse around in the open was a dud of an idea, sleeper agent or not. All it got us in the end was corpse clean up duty and the Apple unleashed on us..." While Frederik spoke, the doctor simply wondered on Earth this 'Apple' was, while the sphere he carried shifted with every step he took.

They walked into an elevator at the younger man's behest, and the black suited Templar punched in a four-digit code into the keypad and selected a floor with the air of a man who'd done this man times. Silently, Dr. Reis memorized the digits for a later date. The elevator hummed and moved upward smoothly in near silence, both of the men staring through the transparent blue glass that made up the walls of the enclosed space. "Tell me doctor... What all do you know about Subject Seventeen? How much information did your briefing include...?" The twinge of curiosity had crept into the man's voice and Reis decided that honesty was the best policy this time, with a restrained wince.

"I am aware of his background and that he was acquired to be the 17th in line for the Animus experiment... Desmond Miles, age twenty-five; a runaway from an Assassin commune in South Dakota who rejoined them after his release from the sector in Rome. However, the order for his recapture only became urgent in mid October of last year," Reis felt it was safe to assume this last point was due to the 'sleeper agent' Frederik had referred to earlier. Now of course, Miles was locked into some kind of state resembling death–though he'd have to examine him more closely to find out exactly what it was–and the fact that Frederik still wanted him here meant the doctor was supposed to help in some way.

As the elevator slid open with a barely audible ring of a bell, Reis shifted his gaze cautiously as his host led him into a spacious room that was almost painfully clean, and the overhead lights were almost impossibly to differentiate from the stark white of the surrounding walls. He took special note of the entrance to the room which, though it was currently wide open, was a set of heavy bulkheads that were almost certainly airtight. There were no windows save for a one-sided tinted glass panel that separated the main chamber another adjacent room sealed with a set of equally secure bolts. Another relatively ordinary door sat beside the bolted one, with a brand new sign reading "Questioning" sitting proudly on the wood. The opposite side was almost entirely covered with a network of computer servers interconnected with a controlled chaos of wires. Among them was a set of monitors observing the interior of the locked room next door, filling the area with a constant hum like the whirring noise of a refrigerator, spewing a layer of fine mist over the floor.

But, dominating the center of the pale area and drawing the eye of anyone to walk in, was an Animus machine. It was impossible not to recognize, though Reis had only ever seen one in action and only through picture, though he couldn't deny it was a simultaneously impressive and foreboding thing. The Animus was a massive machine of sleek white and red, wires sprouting from it in a complex web like roots and disappearing into a grating in the floor below it.

Reis almost missed Frederik's next words as he stared at it, torn between two very different desires to either probe into everything he could learn about the Animus or immediately back out of the room. "So they haven't given you the important parts, have they? Pity. Follow me them, doctor. You'll definitely want to see this..." Curiosity overtook his dilemma, following Frederik Wilkenson through another entrance located on the far side of the room that he hadn't noticed before, coming into a smaller chamber with walls tiled in black and cold concrete floors. There was surgical equipment and medical supplies present that Reis recognized, but they were shiny and new, as though they had only been moved in recently. However the medical bed in the center was not, obvious by the dark stains spotted on the restraints that smelled suspiciously on blood.

"What...is this place?" It was so off compared to the rest of the building, dark and dangerous in feel.

"At first glance it looks like a research lab, doesn't it? However, I'm afraid that the Containment sector of our locale was intended to be used as a prison, and an incredibly secure one at that," Frederik pointed out the doors, which other than the 'Questioning' room, were all thick enough to stop a battering ram, let alone any prisoner who happened to be secluded within. "The Animus and the equipment you see here are all recent additions, but we've been prepared to host Assassins for quite some time. You see one of the security systems here..." He indicated a red protrusion right above a small ventilation shaft that was no wider than his hand, "are set to sound the alarm any time one of these bulkheads is opened without clearance."

"Is all this really necessary? It must have cost a great deal to engineer..."

'We have money to spare, doctor. Besides, one can never take any chances with Assassins," The man gave a wide smile and spread his arms. "Least of all Subject Seventeen."

Reis frowned and crossed his arms; this was starting to delve into strange territory. "The Assassin in question is hardly in much of a position to start a prison break, Mr. Wilkenson. Unless you have found out something more about his condition than I have already..."

"That's not quite it..." Before Frederik could continue any further, the passage they had just come through opened once again to a set of staff carrying the tank from before and a pair of doctors Reis had never seen before, setting it down next to the empty medical bed. They opened the case with a resounding click, causing Jeremiah Reis to twitch in surprise at their suddenness and a scouring gaze from Frederik trained on the man lying within. It took another minute for them to secure the young man into the medical bed, with a slightly disturbed Reis watching through an impassive expression.

"Thank you for the timeliness gentlemen... Two of you should stand guard outside, the rest may go now," The man in the black suit signaled impatiently with a patronizing grin as the others scurried away, turning back to doctor Reis nonchalantly. "I have what you might call a gift for getting him to me first instead of Ms. England, Dr. Reis. He'd become entirely useless to me if I let her take him apart. However, we should be well informed as to the condition of our subject, don't you think? I'd like a thorough examination on what happened to him if you would, then we can get down to business."

Without even waiting for an answer, Wilkenson paced back to the Animus, leaving his guest alone with Miles. Irritable as he was, Reis also wanted to know what the Assassin's odd condition was and why, so he begrudgingly started turning on monitors and taking blood samples.

He was used to the procedures, but he could safely say he'd only performed it on people that he could say for certain were alive. But the more Reis started to uncover, the more confused he started to become. His initial idea that Miles was avoiding decay somehow was all too correct, which should have been completely impossible; if the man were in some kind of cryostasis, he could explain this, but otherwise it remained something of a conundrum for the doctor. Secondly, there was some kind of foreign energy permeating his body that Reis could only guess came from the Grand Temple. If he had a sample from the precursor site or was alone enough to take out the sphere, he could compare the energy signatures to see if there was a match. He cursed his lack of clearance and sighed; if he was more familiar with the Temples, maybe he could find out if this energy could preserve people like this.

Although there was one thing he could observe without the need for outside information, and that was the condition of the young man's right arm. The burn wounds were considerable yes, but if that was the only problem, it could be fixed with surgery and skin grafts. The heat that Miles had come into contact with had apparently been so intense that the bones in his hand had partially _melted_ and fused together from everything below the elbow, no doubt rendering the right hand useless.

"Dr. Reis? Have you discovered anything valuable?" Wilkenson was there again, and he was still staring at Miles intently as though the young man was hiding the secret of the universe within him.

So, having no other choice, the doctor steeled himself and relayed everything he had discovered thus far (which, in retrospect, wasn't really all that much). The Assassin was even more of an enigma than the man had expected, but Frederik _almost_ looked genuinely pleased at his findings, as though he was being presented with a nice gift. The younger man cupped his chin with one hand and mumbled quietly to himself as though Reis wasn't standing next to him, thoughtfully glancing between Miles and his guest. "I see... If that's the case, it just might work after all..."

"I beg your pardon?" Instead of answering, the black-suited Templar led him over the polished work table and pulled a sleek, silver briefcase from one of the drawers and laid it down carefully. Clicking open the catches, Frederik stepped back to reveal that the case held three identical vials, each filled with a transparent, silvery liquid. Without even skipping a beat, Reis rushed over to them, almost pushing the Templar out of the way in his haste and was cautiously examining the vials with wide eyes. "Mr. Wilkenson, how did you come across these?" He lost his composure for a brief few moments with those samples in his hands and shot the other man a venomous glare that thankfully went ignored.

"After your sudden departure from your previous place of employment, we took the liberty of preserving what was left of your research. This is, after all, what made the inner circle approve your acceptance into our ranks. Would you mind? We've done our own research, but I feel the creator could explain much better..." The man was far too calm and controlled in his explanations, disregarding the fact that _his_ work was here of all places and what did this have to do with Desmond Miles?

Wilkenson, that goddamned snake.

"The product's designation is AIS022," Reis began slowly, quashing his instinctual urge to strangle Frederik Wilkenson for so much as touching his fucking work and recounted his creation with ease. "It stands for 'artificial immune system' and the twenty-second strain that was manufactured and the first to officially considered a success. The product is designed to integrate with the immune system of the human body and attack foreign substances that are considered detrimental. In layman's terms, it's a vaccine against illnesses that haven't yet occurred. However, unlike regular vaccinations, AIS022 doesn't introduce samples of those diseases and simply bolsters what is already present. This is accomplished by substantially stimulating brain activity in areas controlling disease prevention."

"So it rejects detrimental foreign substances... Give me an example, Dr. Reis."

"One of the intended applications was to protect soldiers fighting abroad during wartime. Those immunized with AIS022 would be highly resistant–if not completely protected–against the effects of nerve gas, smoke bombs, and toxic gas. It would also improve the lots of firefighters and those suffering from cancerous diseases caused by smoke..." Reis paused and gave his supposed superior a sharp look as he tried to figure out what the man was getting at, "What does this have to do with Miles?"

Frederik stepped a little closer to the medical bed, a fierce grin creeping onto his face, "What if I told you that its likely that the 'energy' that you detected would likely fit into your list of 'foreign substances?'" The Templar's smile grew even wider if that was even possible, and Reis stared at something that was less disturbing, like the vial in his hand, "What would happen were it to disappear?"

"...What? What are you talking about?"

"This 'stasis' that Seventeen is stuck in... I believe it will dissipate and our subject will...wake up."

The doctor froze and he had to put the sample down for fear that he was going to crack the fragile glass in his grip, "AIS022 is not intended for resurrections, Mr. Wilkenson."

"But is Seventeen really dead, doctor?" There was a long moment of silence, and Reis wasn't sure if he should risk trying to argue back. Besides, if the man really could be revived...

He might just be able to answer his questions.

"And what if it fails?" Reis pressed again, playing Devil's advocate for the sake of it.

"Your point?" Wilkenson's mocking tone was so strong now that it was nearly tangible, filling the small room with what could have been an unspoken threat. "If it fails, we lose nothing. But if it succeeds... Do you understand the level of value Seventeen has in our organization, Dr. Reis? What we can accomplish with a corpse is nothing compared to the living Assassin. Our ability to harvest memories after he's passed on are limited, but that is only the beginning. The tip of the iceberg. He's...unique after all."

"A very special snowflake indeed," The older man couldn't keep the blatant sarcasm in his voice from showing, but the other just replied with a raucous laugh and threw back his head. "One question sir... What are you going to do with the rest of my samples if you're intending to use this one on Miles...?"

"One of the vials will be returned to you for reproduction and the other will be transferred to the custody of Mr. Rikkin. Is that satisfactory?" No, it wasn't even close to being a satisfactory deal for him, but Reis nodded anyway, knowing that he really had no other choice in the matter. The fact that they were allowing him to have possession of even one small sample of his own damn creation was surprising enough. "Good, should we begin then?"

Doctor Reis has the vial in his right hand, transferring the contents to a syringe in his other with an easy gesture. He placed the now empty glass tube off to one side while he swabbed the injection site on the young man's uninjured arm, but paused with paused before he could follow through. "What of Ms. England? Should we inform her of the experiment first?"

"Oh, I'll tell that woman...after the experiment. I already have the Grandmaster's authorization to carry out any procedures I deem necessary and her interference will only serve to slow us down. Begin."

Hearing the sharpened warning under his words, Reis frowned but moved forward and eased the needle under unnaturally warm flesh. "Moment of truth," He muttered–a little bitterly–and depressed the plunger to send pale liquid coursing through still veins.

* * *

 

It wasn't as great of a shock as it should've been when the Mentor disappeared, leaving what once was a band of four cut down to two instead, but the Assassins were nonetheless at a loss of what to do next. William Miles had directed the cell to Manhattan to 'blend in and regroup,' as he worded it, but the man was so quiet and unresponsive to questions that Rebecca was more or less in charge of navigation. And the reason why wasn't exactly hard for them to guess.

Shaun had only attempted to bring up the Grand Temple once, but the Mentor cut him off in a nonverbal way, slamming his hand violently on his armrest hard enough to restore the silence. William spoke very little during the drive, focused on the worn journal in his hands, writing constantly in his sharp scrawl. Occasionally the man would pause the documentation, take a slow and shaky breath, and continue in much quicker handwriting. But in spite of the apparent importance of his work, William hardly even looked at the words he was creating, and his gray eyes were dull.

"Find a hotel. Somewhere cheap," The Mentor finally spoke, closing his journal and straightening up.

"No problem, I'll get the cash," Rebecca spoke up immediately after, trying to inject just an ounce of cheer, but the effect was ruined when her voice cracked. They didn't try to talk again until the room in question was secured, a seedy little apartment Downtown, with only two beds and a TV that showed nothing but static. Rebecca found an advertisement for Badweather in the bathroom, and she hastily balled up the paper and disposed of it before William could find it.

The Mentor himself volunteered–or rather, assigned himself under no uncertain terms–that he would take over the night watch duty and sleep on the floor if necessary. The Assassins were already well aware that they had more to be wary of in Manhattan than local thugs or even Templars, even if they usually didn't consider the third threat to be an immediate problem. Although an old infection had been wiped out, the remnant of the virus was suspected to still be living in hiding.

With all this in mind, neither Shaun Hastings or Rebecca Crane had seen his attitude as suspicious. William Miles was dedicated to the Brotherhood with a zealous nature that sometimes verged on extremist; it was only expected for him to take over the night shift personally. A few days passed in this manner with the Mentor seizing upon the guard duty at every opportunity.

In reality, he had set up traps at the door to prevent anyone from surprising them as they slept, while he went up. William went hunting, looking for anyone with any connection to Abstergo with the full intents and purposes of interrogation. The Brotherhood was broken, but he was not, and repeatedly tore through the minds of politicians and Templar sympathizers for method with which to bring them down. Normally he would with caution, and in numbers, but he no longer cared about caution anymore. If William could destroy his old enemies and bring down _that woman_ , then he be satisfied with any end result.

It was time to cut ties and work on his own.

And when the sun rose the next day with one less person in the hotel, the Assassins thought perhaps they had misjudged him.

The only thing the Mentor had left behind for his cell was his small, worn journal filled with harsh slashes of writing and a note to deliver it to Gavin Banks.

This was the biggest and worst kind of wake up call.

Everything had gone downhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get...messy next chapter, in more ways than one.


	3. Quickening and the Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Endure

 

Manhattan wasn't even remotely considered a peaceful city and everyone who lived there knew it. But the typical kinds of violence and crime could usually be predicted, expected, and yet everyone's expectations fell short when a series of deaths eluded officers all across the city. The M. O. was the same and the weapon responsible for the crimes was identified, but then the trail went cryptically cold, and no level of determination seemed to help the investigation.

When he first started following the events occurring in his city, Alex hadn't known the motive or who could be responsible, only that they were skilled at their job. The killer targeted seemingly unrelated businessmen, lobbyists and a few minor politicians, but made little to no effort to conceal their bodies after the deed was done, not that it would make a difference. Whoever this person was and what they wanted, professionalism was a major factor, for no one was able to find a single fingerprint that would lead them to a positive ID. The most obvious link between the victims was their identical cause of death: one bullet to the head with 9mm cartridges found on the scene. Alex tracked the progress of the police in their search, curious and somewhat concerned as to the identity of the subject, only to be somewhat disappointed when they ran into one dead end after another.

Normally, he wouldn't have cared, but when the most recent victim turned out to be a former Gentek employee, it became a real priority. So Alex decided to take to the streets below, and get up close and personal with the issue, where he eventually came upon yet another unpleasant sight.

This would make it number six on the list of kills so far.

The corpse had been a few days old by the time he found it, shoved ungracefully in an out of the way alley, though not much particular care had been taken to hiding it. The victim was red-haired and somewhere in his forties, dressed in an expensive business suit with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and was obviously well-groomed. Like the other kills, it wasn't a robbery; his wallet and keys were still sitting undisturbed in his pants pocket. The man had been securely bound with thick rope, beaten and then killed with a single efficient execution shot to the forehead.

None of the previous victims had been beaten in such a manner, like they'd been interrogated. And if that was the case, what information exactly was the killer looking for?

Curiously, Alex pulled out the man's wallet and opened it to find his ID with the words 'Abstergo Entertainment' emblazoned in bold, red lettering just above his name.

This, after all, was a very significant detail that did not go unnoticed.

Looking at the killings from another angle, they were all related to Abstergo through one way or another, directly or indirectly. They either worked for or were promoting Abstergo products, with the former Gentek scientist buying up large amounts of his old company's stock to transfer to Abstergo, none of which boded well for Alex.

Gentek was a ruin all but destroyed, and Blackwatch hadn't come back to finish what they started, but a massively powerful company growing larger gaining control of all of that data was a major problem. And someone was on the hunt to prevent it attack their supporters when they were unaware.

Alex straightened up, dropping the wallet and ID nonchalantly on the ground and stepped away, slipping out of the alley and back onto the sidewalk. He had to get to the bottom of this and find out just what Abstergo's connection to Gentek really was, or if he had to worry about Manhattan transforming into yet another major battlefield for him to clean up. And the only good way to do that would be to track down the killer himself and get a straight answer.

 

_\--Two weeks later_

_'Beep. Beep. Beep.'_ The steady pattern of the heart monitor slowly forms a growing headache as Dr. Reis stares listlessly at the figure lying on the operating table, and lingering surprise is still creeping through his mind. He hadn't really expected Frederik's wild experiment to work, and even after hearing more about what the research team had found in the Grand Temple, the possibility remained very unlikely. He had thought that his doubts had proven to be correct when AIS022 had initially failed to yield any results, but as it turned out, the effects were only delayed. Miles reacquired brain functions in observable quantity after three days and, thanks in large part to Reis' encouragement, a ventilator was brought in until the patient was capable of breathing on his own. But, since his seclusion in this expensive prison, the Assassin hadn't woken up even after his vitals had stabilized.

Of course, that didn't mean Reis was unoccupied. The initial injection was the easy part, after which he spent a large amount of time using benign carriers to transfer AIS022 to key locations where they could bond with cells and replicate. The patient started to strengthen much faster after that.

It was strange, referring to the young man as a patient instead of a mere subject, but Reis had spent enough time in his presence making sure he didn't die after the trouble they went through to prevent it that the title came fairly easily. The doctor was more or less assigned to monitor his health and keep Frederik Wilkenson informed of any complications that could occur, but he also had to make sure to word his sentences carefully in the other man's presence. The 'Project Lead' preferred to treat their subject as an object instead of a person, and while that kind of attitude was hardly unexpected in Abstergo, it was annoying to one who chose to create advancements simply to benefit humanity.

Reis shook his head, examining the samples on the desk in front of him and adjusting the microscope, focusing on the AIS022 remains he was attempting to replicate. It was a long and arduous process without most of his tools and ingredients that were so much easier to obtain. On top of that, Abstergo (or rather, Mr. Rikkin and Mr. Wilkenson) was more interested in him placing priority on Desmond Miles and Project MORPHEUS. Problem was, they were more or less stuck until Frederik could find a relatively safe way to bring the young man out of his coma.

Unbidden, the man turned his attention to the report lying next to him on the desk, constantly reminding the man of what his superiors considered most pressing:

_**Operations Report:** Project MORPHEUS_

_Project Lead : Frederik Wilkenson_

_Lead Medical Officer : Jeremiah Reis_

_Start Date : 12/23/2012 --Report Date: 03/10/2013_

_Project Goal : Retrieval of Subject #17 of the Animus Project and subsequent harvesting of genetic memories for research and scientific advancement._

_ Secondary Goals: _

_–Lock down and study of Grand Temple in relation to #17 and Precursor remains_

_–Removal of right arm for contact with Precursor data/energy signatures_

_–After the completion of other goals, begin Project HEPHAESTUS_

_Subject Specifics:_

_Designation: #17 (formally Desmond Miles–stricken from official records) Experiment ID#24185_

_Age : Twenty-five; unknown if stasis has affected subject's aging process._

_Gender: Male_

_Height: 6'_

_Diseases/Physical Condition: N/A; Subject is in excellent condition aside from minor atrophy, inferred to be a side effect caused by continued use of the Animus. Substantial burn wounds and internal damage are observed in the right arm; flesh is contained but irreparable with planned replacement._

_Mental State: Subject is stable and preliminary tests have shown that his memories are intact, but harvesting and surgery are not recommended until #17's comatose state is resolved._

_Security Clearance: AAA; Under no circumstances is the subject to be released. No one outside of Dr. Reis, Mr. Wilkenson, Ms. England and Mr. Rikkin are to know that Subject #17 is alive._

 

Reis pushed the paper to the side and stood up, crossing the room to where their apparent prisoner was sleeping, hooked up to all manner of monitoring equipment and strapped to that same operating table that still smelled faintly with the sharp twang of iron. He pulled off his delicate pair of reading glasses and placed them in his breast coat pocket while observing his patient. The doctor had done everything he could to provide the young man with the proper amount of nutrition so that he wouldn't decline while under the effects of his sleep, but as he had suspected, any treatments he attempted for the burned arm were all but useless. Only a week into his acquisition and Reis could already tell that nothing he tried would be of use, so he had abandoned the treatments and produced bandages to cover the damaged flesh.

Desmond Miles would need painkillers when–or if–he woke up, lots of them too.

He put in a quick requisition order for a supply of morphine, fentanyl, and the more rare hydromorphone tabs for his 'just in case' scenario. And even took the time to acquire a few safer, modified samples of hydrocodone for when the inevitable pain would start to decline.

Now almost two and a half months had passed since the Assassin had been sequestered in this prison and little had changed since confirmations that his vital functions and brain waves were stable. On top of that, the instant that Frederik had informed Ms. England about Project MORPHEUS and their recovery of Miles, the woman had wasted no time in hounding them about it. If Frederik hadn't had his superior's word to fall back on, he'd be hard-pressed to keep custody of his subject. The semblance of peace was only kept because Mr. Wilkenson agreed to send regular shipments of blood vials to Ms. England's Sample Seventeen project. Yet another job for doctor Reis to carry out.

He had to keep his guard up around Frederik who had dropped a question on him in the first few days that had made him tense ever since then. The man had described an object that Reis recognized as the glowing sphere he'd found and asked if he'd found it before bringing in Miles. The doctor had denied the question of course, but it was the one time where he was not sure if the deception succeeded. So he no longer carried the object with him, preferring to wrap the artifact in cloth and hide it under some loose paneling on the floor of his home. Occasionally Reis would take it out at the end of the day, trying to study the design and find some clues, but he hoped the Assassin's information would be more useful.

Reis was not as impatient a man as his immediate superior, but he kept his time occupied in as many ways as he could find, and studying his patient was the most recent one. As he had suspected, the salvage he had recovered from the Grand Temple was practically useless, but it had at least provided the names of the ancestors that the Assassins had been investigating with it and he had taken the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. The doctor already knew that Abstergo had used Miles to delve into the memories of Altaïr Ibn La–Ahad, but the Assassins' Animus had provided three more: Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Ratonhnhaké:ton (a.k.a. Connor) and his father Haytham Kenway. Additionally, Ms. England's Sample Seventeen project was focused almost exclusively on Edward Kenway via the blood vials that Reis had shipped to her, though everyone doubted she'd be satisfied with that.

Desmond Miles himself, on the other hand, was something of an enigma. He possessed traces of resemblance to all of them to some degree, but his personality was something of an unknown to the doctor, even after acquiring a copy of his psychological profile. A piece of paper could only tell Reis so much about the patient and how he would react upon waking up apart from the expected pain. It was likely that an Assassin, waking up in the custody of his worst enemies, may become violent.

Reis grumbled to himself that he wasn't able to acquire tapes of Miles' previous incarceration in Italy. They might have provided some clues.

The young man had grown slightly paler since Reis had retrieved him, due to his imprisonment to these few rooms which all lacked a window to the outside world (indeed, even the doctor himself was beginning to feel it wearing on him). Dressed in a simple pair of white pants and shirt and hooked up to a heart monitor, along with a number of other machines designed to keep him alive, Desmond's unresponsiveness had instilled frustration in more than one person. Frederik Wilkenson, for instance, appeared less and less often in the labs and usually just requested occasional status updates on "his subject." As time wore on, Reis became responsible for more and more of the Assassin's care.

But eventually, something had to give.

While the man stood over the operating table and considered, the massive doors slid open with a grating noise and Frederik Wilkenson strode in with a dark-haired woman at his shoulder that Reis had never seen before. She was younger than either of the men and clad in a crisp, white lab coat that looked nothing like the old, ragged one that Reis still wore. His attention was drawn back to Frederik when the man spoke up, a sense of excitement permeating his voice, "Doctor Reis, I think the monotony of Project MORPHEUS is about to run its course. Thanks to my associate here, I do believe that we have uncovered our ticket to waking up #17."

The older man straightened up, removing his hand from where he'd begun unconsciously stroking his chin in concentration, "Are there any adverse effects?" Because after all his constant efforts of preservation, Reis wouldn't want any treatment to cause trauma to what used to be a near corpse. However, he hadn't expected for his question to be met with silence from the other two, where the mocking Templar gave the young woman a pointed stare and almost shoved her forward into full view. "And who exactly are you?"

Frederik gave the woman an appraising stare as he introduced her, the greatest expression of respect that Reis had ever seen him use, "This is doctor Sung. She's been highly recommended for the project. And I have it on good authority she'll fix our problem." The man stopped to glance towards the woman, smile faltering for just a moment or two with a hardened look, "Assuming of course, you've put your hesitation behind you?" He waited until she nodded stiffly and gestured for her to speak up.

The female doctor wrung her hands together, trying and failing to hide the small shaking in them as the topic struck a nerve. "There is...a possibility of some psychological trauma, but I'm confident that we can stabilize him," Though even as she spoke, Sung still glanced sideways at Miles nervously, almost as though she was suspecting he was about to jump up from his prone position and attack them. Nevertheless, the words still caught doctor Reis' attention immediately.

"What are you talking about? What kind of operation are you trying to attempt here?"

"The Animus, doctor. That's what we'll be using to bring him around," Frederik said, silencing the other man almost instantly. It was like an unspoken rule for Reis to never mention the Animus, and he was only too eager to skirt the topic. The more information he learned about the machine and what it eventually caused to happen to those who used it, the less he considered the device something he wanted to be a part of. Reis was pleased that he had managed to stall his superiors from utilizing it on the endlessly unconscious prisoner, but he supposed it was only a matter of time until plans started to move forward again. "The subject has no life threatening injuries which would hinder us. What's availing #17 now is mental," Frederik tapped the side of his skull in yet another wry smile. "But Sung believes that the mental shock caused by reliving memories will force him back into alertness."

Reis was already beginning to catch on to what the man wanted to happen here, but he hoped that he was wrong about the quick assumption and asked anyway, "And how would reliving his ancestor's memories help this situation? It could be interpreted as dream sequence of some sort."

"Why doctor, we're not going to be using his ancestor's memories at all. For maximum effect, there's really no need to use anything but the subject's own memories for the process. Specifically the most recent ones," Frederik's smile was almost dripping with a malicious intent, even as the words fell from his mouth. The doctor felt a chill through the air just from hearing it out loud and even the young woman with him suddenly found the stark white floor more interesting to look at.

"You want him to relive his own death?" He managed to keep his voice level, but only just barely. Over the past few weeks, doctor Reis was starting to think that Frederik enjoyed testing the limits of his patience and frustration, but this was something else entirely. It was flat-out torture, and even with matters of morality set aside, Reis had resigned himself to assuring the continued health of this particular prisoner and everything his profession stood for reviled the idea of such treatment. Despite being provided reports on its workings and effects, he wasn't familiar enough with the Animus to recommend using it on Miles at all, let alone for the sole purpose of evoking a traumatic experience.

And, the most infuriating thing about the situation was that he had little to no say in the matter.

Provided with an invitation and a shiny red pin changed nothing in the end. You were only truly considered a Templar if you agreed with the beliefs they held, but the organization did not let go of its members once they had joined. And, if the background of Desmond Miles was accurate, then the Brotherhood was no different either. Reis didn't care about the "new world order," which meant he was not trusted. His opinion meant nothing more than the coffee stain on Frederik Wilkenson's fucking desk.

"Doctor, if #17 had truly died, we wouldn't even be having this conversation at all, would we? Besides which, information behind the how and why behind his condition is still unknown. Don't lie to me and tell me you aren't curious as to how the subject came to us this way," Frederik didn't wait for an answer before calling for assistance on his phone, not that his statement needed one anyway. Reis couldn't deny he wanted to know what had happened, but the method they were planning on using to get that knowledge was less than ideal. But Frederik didn't care.

_What a sick son of a bitch._

But while he was stewing a little, his attention was caught by the woman, Sung, as she stepped closer with her hands wrung together.

"I...understand why this procedure worries you. It's a great concern to me as well," She started, going quiet for a second as the older man faced her. "But I know the systems of the Animus very thoroughly, particularly this one, and I know how to stabilize the process. He'll pull through, I'm certain."

"You're familiar with Miles?" Reis let the name slip, not feeling the same strict nature he was so familiar with around Frederik.

Sung became very quiet, speaking so low he almost didn't catch the words, "He killed D–" She stopped, cutting off her sentence too quickly. "...He's a very determined individual by any means, but I am concerned that he won't be convinced to cooperate willingly. This operation might just succeed at provoking him more," Sung smiled weakly, but it looked more like a wince than anything else.

In mere moments, a pair of guards entered the cell under Frederik's command and set to work moving Miles to the Animus device as directed, securing him into place with thick leather restraints. The massive machine rumbled as Sung booted up, and the prisoner suddenly showed his first sign of movement as a noticeable flinch in response to the noise. Reis was hoping he might wake up right then so that the operation didn't have to go any further, but no such luck as the young man relaxed again. The large visor on the Animus swung down slowly over his head, obscuring his eyes from view.

"You'll want to see this, doctor," Frederik's voice called him away from his spot next to the machine where a single monitor sat on a relatively new, polished desk. Sung was bent over the computer, navigating through a complex menu until the screen turned completely white. The loading screen passed fairly quickly, loading up a dark cavernous place that Reis recognized as the ruins that he'd seen with his own two eyes. "Here we can see what he sees. The most recent memory data will no doubt give us some important insight," Reis tried to ignore Frederik as he watched the scene load completely, but immediately started and shift around confusedly. As he witnessed the image of the Assassin open the final door with a key resembling a strange necklace, the quality of the display began to utterly break down, static flickering with increasing frequency that almost blotted out the screen entirely.

What was initially professional calm from Sung transformed into determination and haste, her fingers moving twice as fast across the keyboard, "He's rejecting me, sir."

"So even like this, the subject is still capable of fighting back...well," Frederik was no longer smiling. "I don't care. If the display is completely beyond saving, then stabilize the audio at least. Play the memory all the way to the end." The woman was shaking slightly but complied. The feed from the memory was still shaky to say the least, but most of the words that were said could still be heard. Reis dug his nails into the palm of his hand, wondering how far the suspension of his disbelief could go.

But the moments of calm were broken when an angry yell cut through the air and three pairs of eyes swung around to see what had happened. The cause was immediately apparent; Desmond Miles was awake, and furious. He was yanking at the restraints with enough force to jostle the machine's thick armrest, and Reis was beginning to doubt they were enough to hold him. It was clear just from seeing him conscious that the damage to his right arm was just as extensive as the doctor had suspected, as the bandaged limb only managed a vague twitching while his other arm was borderline tearing off the leather straps entirely. Miles was obviously aware of what reliving this sequence really meant.

And still the last memory continued to play.

Sacrifice. Martyr. Chosen One. It was like something out of a tale, and the irony was so horrific that doctor Reis almost wanted to laugh out loud. For all that the Precursors were romanticized and targets of obsession by the Assassins and Templars, they were little more than people failing to clean up their own mess, and one single traitor used their supposed 'chosen one' and threw him away. He almost wanted to be sick as the screen faded out. _"And it turns out the gods are no better than man,"_ He thought coldly, and even Sung was incredibly still, paling considerably as the message sank in.

Frederik on the other hand, looked contemplative, pacing over to the young man who had fallen very quiet as the memory reached its conclusion. He leaned over and tapped on the thick visor, "I'm glad to finally know what happened, 17. But, unfortunately, we'll have more work for you."

The Assassin reacted instantly, slamming his uninjured hand violently down on the machine with what little mobility he still had, "Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, you sick bastard." His voice was hoarse and very quiet from disuse, but regardless lost none of the venom the words were intended for, and the doctor silently agreed with him.

"Quaint," The man straightened up again, adopting the same sharp grin that Reis recognized him wear so often, and turned to face the two still frozen by the monitor. "Sung, I thank you for the assistance, but I'm afraid your job here is done for now. Please return to your division," The woman followed this order quickly, eager to be out of the same room as Frederik. "Doctor Reis, please sedate the subject so we can move him. We can finally begin the next stage of the project."

The man walked away and let Reis approach cautiously, watching as the visor slid back to reveal the conscious and very alive face of Desmond Miles. Instantly, he was struck by a strange discrepancy in the young man's appearance that certainly hadn't been present in his memories.

His eyes were the wrong color.

What should have been a deep brown was an intense shade of gold which didn't even appear to be natural. And even as he watched, the color flashed a lot brighter for a brief moment too quickly for Reis to be sure that it had even happened. A confused look flickered across Miles' face for a second but he didn't say anything else, just bit down hard on his lip as though to restrain himself from crying out. The doctor didn't need to ask if he was in pain; it was written out plain as day.

Reis didn't apologize; there really wasn't any point. There was no apology that could make up for what he went through, so the older man simply settled for practicality instead. "I'll provide you with pain killers when you wake up. Use the message system in the room to call for more."

"Who...are you?" The young man's voice was harse with pain but the same rage he heard before was not as pronounced.

"Doctor Jeremiah Reis. We'll talk later, at the appropriate time," Reis let it drop there and put him to sleep. When the time was right, away from the prying eyes of his superior, the doctor could finally question the Assassin on the questions that kept refused to be answered. His curiosity would be sated.

 

_\--_

The iron twange of the scent of blood lay heavy in the air, blanketed thickly enough that even without his advanced senses, Alex was unsure of how the average person managed to miss it. Or maybe they actually did notice, but didn't make the same connection of value that he did. Either way, he'd run into numerous dead ends and problems, but was certain that he'd finally arrived at the correct place.

Recently, yet another Abstergo-supported lobbyist went missing from his home, and Alex had fortunately been in the right place at the right time to be able to track down his whereabouts to this storehouse in the shipping yards. It wasn't old or abandoned enough to fit the expectations of a hideout, with walls still free from peeling paint and collapse, but the man was able to find out that it had recently been marked for demolition. Whoever the killer was, he must have set up camp here very recently or changed positions frequently.

Whatever the reason, the stench of blood here was heavy, and he had every intention of investigating the source personally. Mostly to find out just what Abstergo had to do with Gentek.

Alex waited until nightfall to approach the building, keeping an eye on the surroundings to make sure that no one left the area until he was ready to enter personally. When the streets were completely empty and silent before circling around the warehouse from the back assuming that the front entrance would give him away instantly. But when he found the door locked tightly, Alex had to force it open with a splintering of wood and a harsh creak. He waited a moment or two for a reaction of some sort, but there was no answering sound from within, so his intrusion had likely gone unnoticed so far.

Almost as soon as he entered the building however, the man had to pull his foot back and stop as he noticed the thin lines running lengthwise across the area. They appeared to be made of fishing wire some kind of trip wire for a trap. It shouldn't pose any danger, but the noise it might cause would probably send the killer running and then he'd be back to square one again. But still, it reinforced his theory that this wasn't any ordinary murderer he was dealing with if there was a security system like this set up.

Alex stepped over and under the wires cautiously until there were no more, getting progressively more irritable with the lengths his quarry was making him go through. He found the breaker box in a side room with all the fuses cut. The killer didn't need any power here it seemed.

But after searching a number of rooms that yielded little more than unimportant crates left behind by the previous owners, there was one more remaining that drew interest. Light was flickering slowly under the small crack in the door; cast by a candle or two no doubt. Alex stopped just outside the entrance, trying to listen for any noise on the other side, but was only met with more silence. Hoping that this wasn't yet another dead end somehow, he opened the door quickly and stepped inside.

_Click_

Alex had time to ground out an annoyed "Shit," before the wire on the door snapped, sending several blasts that he recognized as high-caliber explosive rounds rocketing into his chest. Familiar because he distinctly remembered being on the recieving end of weapons like this before. The trap would definately have been fatal for anyone else, immediately or not. The damage from the attack would have obliterated his lungs and heart had he still been a human. As it was, the injury was still painful and sudden, forcing Alex to a halt as he waited for the damaged skin to start stitching itself back together.

He scanned the area, trying to find who was responsible, only to face down the barrel of a rifle.

Well, he could admit that he didn't expect this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter physically hurt to write, okay
> 
> I need to lay down
> 
> Also traps. I couldn't have this completely one-sided punishment, so I blew open Alex's chest. Yay.


	4. Stormclouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Do not underestimate the determination of a quiet man."_  
>  \---Iain Duncan Smith

 

Whatever Alex had been expecting from the serial killer, it wasn't this.

He (because of course confirming the gender was the easiest detail to file away) was considerably older than the city's investigators had suspected, as he had to be somewhere in his mid-sixties at least. The man's hair was straight and short with a matching rough beard, dark roots buried under the natural gray of old age. He was garbed in a thick, black coat that hid most of his figure from view and brushed against the tops of his heavy boots. A M4 carbine fitted with a silencer was leveled on his unexpected guest and a holstered handgun was just barely visible under the shadow of his coat.

Also, he was pretty tall. Alex was mildly pissed about that for an instant.

Interestingly, even as Alex's skin patched itself together from the man's trap, he didn't seem to be overly concerned about it. In fact, his steely gray eyes even seemed to relax slightly at the sight. Then he displayed another surprising act by lowering his weapon a bit and opened his mouth to speak.

"Mercer. You could have just knocked instead," The coarse voice brought Alex to his feet, too curious with the stranger's odd attitude to immediately attack him for answers. His tone was a harsh, grumbled one, like a man permanently disappointed. "Now I have to reset my traps because of you."

"You're the one the whole city's looking for," Though his tone of voice was rather matter-of-fact, Alex was honestly intrigued. In any other situation, a man this age should be heading towards retirement at this point, not hiding in warehouses and murdering executives. Not to mention the trap themselves were not typical by any means and had to have been handmade considering their unique design. Just too odd. And he didn't really have any reason yet to resort to his usual methods. Not when this guy was conversing so freely and didn't possess an itchy trigger finger like most gunmen he dealt with.

"Yes I am," The stranger replied shortly, glancing out between the boarded up planks on the window on his right, possibly to check if anyone had heard the noise from his traps. "You must be here for the Gentek connection, otherwise you've picked a rather odd time to become a vigilante, Mercer."

"You know who I am."

There was a derisive snort, "Anybody who knows anything in this city does." Apparently satisfied with the empty streets surrounding the waterfront warehouses, the man nodded and turned to face his 'guest,' leaning his rifle on the wall beside him. "There's not much point to concerning myself. If you were here to kill me, you would have done so. And there's very little I can stop you with regardless." He stopped then, flinty gray eyes taking in the form of the living virus as if considering the later impact of that result, "However, Mercer, should you change your mind about killing me, it would be to your advantage to wait until after I've completed my mission."

Well, that was interesting. The combination of tone of voice was very brusque, almost military, like a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Despite negotiating from a position of weaker power, the stranger acted like he held all the answers. It was annoying, but still very curious.

This had to have something to with Gentek, or, what was left of it and the connection to Abstergo Industries. "Why do you want me to wait?"

There was a shadow of a smile there; not much more than approval for his interest, but it was there. "Gentek has been on the path to ruin for several years now, but they have had valuable successes in the past, and Abstergo was the first to capitalize on that. They're far more than a mere pharmaceutical company, after all," The approval instantly shifted to a cold bitterness layered on top of a drawn exhaustion. "They are to me what Gentek was to you, Mercer: the enemy."

And Alex could understand that in a way. Honestly, he didn't know much about Abstergo, but Gentek was also something that normal people didn't immediately suspect to be at the head of a massive conspiracy. Plus the very fact that former Gentek employees were bartering with this other faction raised alarm bells even without their dark secrets known. "What are they planning?"

"World domination," Alex raised a brow at the phrase, but the apparent killer was deadly serious. "Interestingly, their motivations I can agree with, but the methodology... Let's put it this way, their ultimate goal is world peace, but mankind cannot be trusted to make his own peace."

"Slavery or brainwashing?" This was getting weird, but no more so than he'd already dealt with.

"They're essentially the same thing, Mercer. I was part of a group that supported 'Freedom,' while our enemies preached 'Order.'" The man silenced himself, frowning about something unknown he seemed bothered by, "But that doesn't really matter to you. The point is that Abstergo has all but absorbed what remained of Gentek, along with all of their research and records, including everything they found out about you. They're inevitably going to cause trouble for you, or repeat that experiment in some form. My mission is to prevent that... Is what I'd like to say. Actually Mercer, I'm more interested in revenge right now." The bitter look resurfaced again, and Alex was struck with how familiar the situation was. But this guy was right about the research. If Abstergo was going to pick up where the other company had left off, then someone in the know would have to deal with it.

Still, he had a lot of information about Gentek in the first place.

Strangely enough, one of the points that stood out to Alex the most during that explanation was the self-proclaimed vengeance-seeker used the word 'was' in referenced to his clandestine group. As though his affiliation with them was strictly past-tense. But he didn't bring it up, focusing on the more immediate concern, "And did your so-called 'freedom-fighters' find out all this?"

The man nodded, crossing his arms, "Yes, but there was no point getting involved. You were dealing with Blackwatch and Gentek well enough without us, not that there wasn't massive collateral damage already. And I wasn't going to risk any of my agents in that hellhole."

By this point, Alex already had his mind made up. Regardless of what the man's motivations where, it was most important to deal with what Abstergo acquired. On the other hand...with this guy talking like some kind of secret agent, he'd need more than just his word to back it up. "I want proof, and information on Abstergo."

"You'll have it," The reply was immediate and Alex raised a hand quickly to catch the cell phone that the man had tossed his way. It was one of the cheap, throwaway flip phone you could find anywhere; nothing seemed particularly special about it. In fact, there was only two contacts, listed simply as S. H. and R. C. "Two of my best. Not fighters, but information and technology specialists. Tell them I sent you and they should help you."

"You're putting a lot of stock in the chance that I'll actually agree to go along with this,"His voice was flat and the apparent agent nodded slowly, indicating that he knew all too well what his chances were. Obviously, this man was desperate enough not to care. Alex wasn't sure when he'd nonverbally agreed to be included in this guy's mission, but convenient help for dealing with it was too good to pass up. Assuming of course someone actually had the nerve to work with him. "Besides, I need to know who you are first," After all, he needed a name to go with the face. Something he could use to appeal to these so-called agents.

The man paused halfway to picking up his rifle as if caught off guard by the question, for reasons that Alex couldn't guess. He stopped then, smoothed back his gray hair and said, "Tell them that the Assassin Bill Miles sent you, and that it won't be like the 21st." The drained, bitter edge seeped back into his voice, and his straightened up, the gun disappearing into the folds of his coat. He indicated a sheaf of papers on the table in the corner, "Some background information on the marks I hunted. You might be interested in what exactly their plans were. There are a few more errands I need to run before the real marks make themselves known. I'll contact you later."

Alex watched him leave silently, clenching the phone in his hand. Well, he'd chased down the killer for answers and did find them in a sense. He could have still stopped Bill from leaving, but Gentek's research was no simple matter, and access to a nice information network was a definite plus. And if the agent was anything like he was, then he wouldn't stop until he achieved his goal.

It wasn't common by any means, but Alex had worked with an ally before.  
Maybe it was finally time for him to repeat that.

* * *

 

Desmond Miles went to sleep utterly pissed, and woke up exactly the same way. The constant pain he was in only honed that emotion all the more potently. The only reason why he hadn't immediately destroyed everything in the little cell he'd been trapped in to vent was because there really was no point, and it wouldn't make him feel any better. Time and rest hadn't done anything to calm his anxieties; on the other hand, it had thoroughly accomplished solidifying the burning hatred he wasn't really accustomed to feeling. Less than a minute after meeting the man that put him through that, Desmond already wanted to kill him, preferably as soon as humanly possible.

And if the situation itself wasn't unusual enough, the emotion in of itself was. Desmond was not normally someone who held grudges or hunted down people he hated. He didn't even really acquire the urge to hunt down Vidic until circumstances forced him to off the crazy old bastard. Blood and gore didn't really phase him after all the Animus deaths he'd been put through, so it wasn't squeamishness. Maybe it was just because he despised being used anyone's killing tool, even the Assassins'.  
But this new asshole... He was nothing but a malicious monster and Desmond had never wanted to hurt someone that much his whole life.

But of course, there were three people there right? Yeah, though he never actually saw the third, and he didn't know their names just yet. The older guy on the other hand, was more unusual than he looked at first glance. For someone who resembled Vidic with longer hair and glasses, he didn't take the opportunity to berate him or flaunt his alleged superiority like Desmond had suspected. Of course there was an even bigger reason why he was so different; an important detail made heavily clear through the use of Eagle Vision.

The man all in black, the object of Desmond's fury, was an undeniable shade of bloody red, the color and emotion surrounding him intense enough for the light to seep into the air and floor around him.

The old guy though, was painted by the Eagle Vision in an unexplained dull gray: the color of an innocent. Really though, even Abstergo's rank and file guards who didn't know jack still appeared to be crimson because they followed orders. A defector or Assassin spy trying to help him would, obviously, show up blue. And this...this was neither. He had some other unknown agenda, which didn't seem to revolve around aiding or harming him so far, and Desmond had idea whether that would turn out to be a helpful thing or not at this point.

Still, the old man was true to his word. When the Assassin woke up alone in the white room, he found the pain medication lying unassumingly on a plastic plate and took it immediately. The pain abated somewhat and left him with oddly pleasing buzz, but he wasn't really expecting a couple of pills to get rid of the discomfort completely. Still, with the medicine, Desmond was finding it easier to think now that at least some of the torture had lessened. There really wasn't much of an alternative. Refusing treatment to spite his captors was meaningless, and he wouldn't be able to come up with a plan of escape if this agony was constantly distracting him. Also it'd be pretty stupid to try to poison him after they bothered to bring him back. How the hell had they pulled that off?

And, honestly, that was the kicker wasn't it? Desmond was alive, and he was fairly sure that he was going to die in that cave, or...did die. That was what the Space Bitch wanted, after all. Still, he did fuck up his arm as a consolation prize so that was something. He couldn't move his right arm at all now, so it was probably a lost cause. He'd been wrestling with the admittedly idiotic impulse to unwrap the bindings to find exactly how bad the injury really was, but suppressed it. Besides, Desmond had more important things to worry about, like finding a way of getting out of this cell.

There weren't any cameras that he could see, but he tried to be subtle just in case, though it wasn't likely to find anything useful. It didn't really look much different from the room he'd been trapped in before, with all the furniture except for one odd plastic chair bolted immovably to the floor. The major difference was covering most of one wall was a window about an inch thick that offered a clear view into another, smaller room. The only things present on the other side was a plain table and a few chairs.

The setup was...pretty familiar actually.

"I wonder when the detectives arrive to question me," The Assassin gave a derisive snort and started searching the cell in earnest for something he could use to get out. The dizziness and soreness in his limbs made movement more exhausting, as though the Assassin hadn't exercised for quite some time, but that was just ridiculous. Come to think of it... What was the current date anyway? Desmond found it hard to believe that he could have been unconscious for any longer than a few days, but the weakness and exhaustion said otherwise. Of course it went without saying that it didn't mean he wasn't going to take the first possible opportunity to escape the instant it appeared.

Maybe he could stuff all the paper down the toilet and break it. Someone would have to fix it then, right? Still...

Desmond was interrupted as he heard the sound of a door creaking open–not his cell door then–and stepped back to find that two figures had entered the small room on the other side of the thick glass. His eyes immediately narrowed when he recognized them: it was the black-suited man and the old scientist from before. Slowly, Desmond moved closer, never breaking eye contact with his enemy, who was donning that self-satisfied smirk that made his blood boil.

He stopped just in front of the glass, placing a single hand on the plastic chair in front of him and waited, trying to imagine what Abstergo wanted with him now.

* * *

 

Reis didn't know why Wilkenson had asked him to accompany him to the first questioning of his prisoner; maybe it was his way of imposing some kind of trial to make certain of his loyalty. He hadn't raised much outward fuss when the man had woken Miles, but there was a possibility that he hadn't hidden his emotions as well as he should've.

Though Reis wasn't exactly upset about the assignment; if anything, he looked at this as his opportunity to finally see exactly what made the Assassin tick. He needed to know, if he was to get any information out of him about the artifact he possessed. And, well, how to go about negotiating with him. Yes, negotiating. Because it was obvious that he couldn't use threats even before speaking with him. Miles had already lost everything; there was nothing anyone could possible threaten him with. Family? What family he had were Assassins and were long since in hiding. Friends? Miles only built shallow, skin-deep relationships so he could cut ties effectively while on the run; rather admirable really. Death? Pointless, as the young man had already felt the sensation of death and was unlikely to fear it. To get something of import from the Assassin, Reis would have to give him back something as well.

The old doctor provided as much medicine as he could get away with this early. Too little and he wouldn't be able to think straight or be conscious long, and too much would leave the young man too drugged to answer effectively. Frederik seemed to be thinking along similar lines, but Reis had no idea what he wanted to ask Miles if he could just force the answers so brutally out of his head with the Animus like he did before. Obviously, he'd already proven that he didn't particularly care about the trauma of his prisoner as long as he was alive and conscious.

So with a great deal of curiosity and a fair bit of unease, Reis followed his superior to the containment wing where Miles was sequestered, and was led directly to the plain wooden door next to the cell. "Now then, doctor. Nothing altogether unusual today. We'll just be having a brief chat with #17 before we begin the real project," Frederik's smile was just a mocking as usual, indicating he suspected to encounter no real problems. "Just to gauge his reactions...and cooperation."

"Do you honestly think he's likely to cooperate willingly?" The very idea was absolutely ridiculous.

"No, but don't you think we owe him an introduction?" Frederik sounded far from genuine, and the doctor couldn't believe for a second that he was. What was his game, exactly?

Reis didn't answer, but Frederik Wilkenson seemed to accept that reaction, pushing open the simple door and stepping inside. The thick glass paneling separated the room they now stood in with the cell and... Desmond Miles was there already, waiting for them. The sling wrapped around his destroyed right arm was held close to his chest, yet instead of making him appear weaker, the gesture seemed oddly threatening. His uninjured hand lay upon the one chair in the room, the one and only piece of furniture left unsecured.

His eyes were still golden; seems like the doctor wasn't really hallucinating before after all. Not that someone like him was prone to visions anyway.

Either way, his fury was undeniable to even the densest observer. Oddly calm, but still obviously angry. Reis interpreted the look Miles directed at his superior as being something along the lines of "if you were in the same room, I'd be ripping out your jugular right now." But he could be wrong on that point, maybe the Assassin actually wanted to kill him more slowly.

Either way, he didn't immediately speak up, staying silent while Frederik introduced the both of them with a casual air as though they weren't sitting in a maximum security cell. "As you may have already gathered, #17, you are currently in custody of Abstergo Industries, or what your pathetic little resistance calls Templars. Obviously, things are not going to be the same as before. We are not on a time limit and you are too valuable to waste. The sheer volume of important history in your head is just one of several reasons for your continued existence #17. So you can call this your new home of sorts."

Jesus Christ. Frederik was a monster, but he had balls.

In fact, long before the man had finished speaking, the murderous glare in Miles' eyes had increased significantly and his clenched fingers turned white with strain. "You can't keep me here."

The black-suited man was still unconcerned, and still smiling. "We can and we will. You're an important research asset, and we'd be foolish not to make full use of that fact. I should also let you know, #17, that you're unlikely to be let outside even on good behavior. A test subject of your status should be aware of that much at the very least."

Miles straightened up abruptly, dragging the chair across the ground with a harsh screech, and Reis could see that his eyes were glowing brightly again for some reason. When he spoke, his voice was rising in anger, for perfectly good reason after what he had heard, "My name is Desmond. I am a human being, and not your fucking plaything!" The movement from him was almost too inhumanly fast to follow. One moment, the Assassin was standing still, the next he had seized ahold of the chair and hurled it at the glass window with incredible force. But the panel was far too thick and well reinforced for the relatively fragile piece of furniture to harm it, bouncing off the barrier and to the ground with a clatter. But the suddenness and speed of the attack had Reis stepping backward reflexively, eyeing the Assassin with a stare of surprise. He hadn't expected something like that.

Frederik's eyes had widened with the attack but he recovered quickly, rising from his seat meeting the gaze of the doctor evenly, "I think we've said our piece, doctor. The subject is obviously too emotional to have a decent discussion with us anyway. We'll start the Animus sessions tomorrow." He was about to exit the room then, when he was interrupted by the Assassin.

"You are not going to put me back in that goddamn machine; you'll have to kill me first!"

Even knowing what the outcome of that declaration would be, Reis still felt slightly repulsed when he had to hear it, trying to make his way out of the vicinity as quickly as he could. Frederik Wilkenson turned back very slowly, still gripping the handle of the door, and fixed his prisoner with a victorious sneer. "On the contrary #17, you don't have a choice."

And then he slammed the door on Miles' rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...anyone hate Frederik, yet? Well...he gets worse.
> 
> And that cell really isn't much different from AC1, 'cept they swapped the cameras out for extra guards and security doors three times as effective. Which you really need with an Assassin with as much experience as Desmond. No one's going to be breaking in to 'save the day,' as no one knows he's alive, and I had to give him a work out of a sort. 
> 
> And sour and dour formed an alliance too. ha


End file.
